All That's Left
by Ada C. Eliana
Summary: Sam and Dean are finally reunited, but much has changed, and the events that occured in their years apart now stand to come between them. Sequel to A Long Winter's Night.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: You want it you got it, the sequel to "A Long Winter's Night" and the third in my little mini-series has arrived! **

**Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own Supernatural... yet... buahahaaa...

* * *

**

All That's Left

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 1: What now?

* * *

"_Blessed is he who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and can be of service to him. And blessed is he who loves his brother as well when he is far off as when he is by his side, and who would say nothing behind his back he might not, in love, say before his face."_ St Francis of Assisi

* * *

Dean sat in the dark watching Sam sleep. It seemed to be all he did lately. After their reunion on Christmas Eve, both of them had completely slept through Christmas Day, and then into Christmas night. The Canadians were finished putting away their decorations by the time Dean had woken up on the 26th.

But Sam… he just kept sleeping. Dean would wake him up, and Sam would lazily respond, eating when Dean made him, showering when he told him to, but he was so lethargic that he would just fall asleep afterwards; no talking, barely even acknowledging that he had seen Dean at all. It wasn't exactly how Dean had imagined it; it was barely like having Sam there at all; he had to keep reminding himself that Sam really was there.

Dean chalked it up to the intense stress Sam must have been under, maybe his body and his mind just needed time to heal. Of course that got his mind wandering as to what had happened to Sam. He hadn't even had the chance to get a proper look at his brother yet, make sure he was okay. And he would feel incredibly awkward checking him over while he was asleep; he wouldn't want to violate Sam's trust either. So he would just have to wait.

And ever since Dean had woken up he had just watched Sam, afraid that if he took his eyes off of him for a moment he would stop breathing or something. Sam always slept on his side or his back, stretched out, taking up as much space as possible. When they were younger they had to share the beds in the cheap motels their father stopped in, and Dean had gotten used to being shoved to the edge of the mattress in the night. But now Sam was sleeping different; curled up, as if he were trying to become small and invisible; as if he were protecting himself from something. But at least he didn't seem to be having any nightmares, and for that Dean was incredibly thankful.

His vigil over his brother gave him time to muse over everything that had happened. When Sam had appeared in that parking lot, Dean had been too overwhelmed to think. He could tell immediately that Sam was different. The way he deflected Dean's questions with sarcasm and downcast eyes was a warning bell in Dean's head right away. It had been over two years since they had last seen each other, and it was clear that Sam had been through something; perhaps something horrifying. Dean didn't know how he would be able to help Sam. If his little brother opened up to him, what would he hear? Sam had said he was afraid Dean would be mad at him, and Dean knew Sam meant for more than just taking off like he had. But he also knew that no matter what he would always be in Sam's corner; there was nothing he could have done that would change the way Dean felt about him.

Dean also had to realize that he had changed as well. Three years ago he would never have shown such affection towards his brother; hanging onto him like a lifeline. No, both brothers were different now, and that meant that things had changed; it would never be like it was before.

It had been a long two years and seven months since the car wreck in Missouri; Dean was acutely aware of that. The nights he laid awake, his mind forcing him to imagine Sam dying horrible deaths or just plain suffering had just made it seem twice as long. And considering that he had all but given up on Sam just a couple days ago, he could honestly never thought they would be here; as imperfect as it was.

Every now and then he would drift off, and then abruptly snap back to reality, his eyes searching the room for Sam as if he were about to realize everything had just been some crazy dream. But there his brother would be, snoozing away in the bed, that annoying hat still on his head.

Dean was broken from his thoughts when Sam suddenly began to tremble in his sleep, muttering something under his breath. Dean rose from the chair, quickly sitting beside Sam on the bed and shaking him to wake him up. "It's okay, Sammy, just wake up, okay? Sam, come on man, don't do this to yourself," Dean whispered as Sam's body shook and his mutterings became more fervent. This was the first nightmare Dean had seen Sam have since he had returned, and while he had expected it to happen, it still unnerved him. He pulled Sam up, Sam's back to Dean's chest, and put his arms around him. "Sammy, come on, you're okay," Dean said into his ear. Finally Sam stopped trembling, and his eyes flicked open. For the first time since Christmas Eve Sam looked at Dean and actually _saw_ him.

"Dean?" he asked; his voice as hoarse as it had been days ago. Dean really wanted to ask him about that, but he knew it would have to wait.

"Yeah? You okay?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as light as possible.

"Uh… yeah… yeah I'm fine," he whispered unconvincingly. He scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked a couple of times, trying to push the tantalizing lull of sleep away. "How long was I asleep?" he questioned uncertainly, staring up at Dean's face from his lower vantage point, feeling a bit awkward that Dean hadn't released him yet.

"A while," Dean replied tensely.

"Oh… sorry…"

"It's okay." God, did Sam always have to apologize for everything?

"So… what now?"

"Well, what do you want to do? Anyplace you want to go?" Dean asked. Honestly he had asked himself the same question 'what now?' numerous times, and he never could come up with an answer. It all came down to what Sam wanted.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, or maybe he was just mustering up the courage to say it, but when he finally spoke, Dean couldn't say he was surprised at the answer.

"California," Sam whispered, and it sounded like a prayer.

"California," Dean seconded, and even though Sam didn't say the next part out loud, Dean heard him loud and clear – "Jess."

* * *

**A/N: Longer chapters to come. Tell me what you think!**

**See ya,**

**_Ada_**


	2. The Silence Between

**A/N: First of all thank you to my wonderful reviewers from chapter one; it's great to hear from you. Second of all, I have decided to write this story with flashbacks of Sam's time away from Dean in _italics_, so the reader can glean more from a situation than Dean. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: All I own is a car I named Dean, not the actual Dean or Supernatural or anything...

* * *

**

All That's Left

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 2: The Silence Between

* * *

_"There are so many little dyings that it doesn't matter which of them is death."_ Kenneth Patchen

* * *

Sam wanted to leave immediately but Dean insisted that he shower and eat first. Dean was relieved to see Sam up again, but he was willing to push his luck, and Sam grudgingly agreed, his lanky form disappearing behind the bathroom door with barely a word. Dean packed their things – well all of his stuff, and Sam's very small duffle, the contents of which Dean had not seen yet – in the car. Sam came out just as he finished and barely gave Dean a chance to look at him before he climbed in the Impala's passenger seat.

As they pulled away from the Gateway Motel Dean could honestly admit he was a little sad to put Saratoga Springs behind him. For all he had mocked the place originally, it held a certain fondness for him now.

Dean couldn't help but feel complete as he drove in his Impala, his brother in the passenger seat, and if he let his mind go blank he could pretend it was two years ago. But he wished Sam would say something, that he would talk to him. Sam hadn't said much since he woke up, but it would be a long drive to California so he would have to start talking eventually; or else Dean would make him. It was obvious that Sam was thinking, but he stayed stubbornly silent.

* * *

"You know, we are going to have to talk eventually," Dean finally said. Sam didn't respond, he just stared silently out the windshield. Dean sighed and continued driving, turning the radio on to break up the silence.

Half an hour later Sam finally spoke.

"I killed it," he said quietly, not looking at Dean, not really looking at anything. It was unnerving, and his voice was too calm.

"_The_ demon?" Dean asked, wishing he could watch Sam and drive at the same time. Too bad his brother had chosen a crowded highway as the setting for their talk, Dean couldn't even pull over. He couldn't help but wonder if Sam timed it that way.

"Yeah. It's gone, that bastard's gone," he said with a touch of malice and hatred in his voice that Dean had never heard before. Coupled with the gravelly tone he could hardly believe he was hearing _Sam_. Dean took a quick glance at Sam and his expression looked stony, devoid of emotion; completely unreadable; completely unfamiliar.

"How? The colt?" Dean pressed, fingers tight on the wheel, waiting for Sam to explain how he had single-handedly finished the family's crusade.

"Hah the colt… no I lost that a couple months after the car crash," he whispered.

"_Oh Sammy, trying to shoot me again? That hurts. Is that any way to treat your **father**?" A flash of pain ripped through his chest and through the sudden rushing in his ears he heard the sound of blood dripping onto the ground. His grip on the gun loosened against his will, and the colt dropped. "How very foolish of you. But don't worry, I love my children even when they misbehave… isn't that right, Kelly?" _

_A girl whimpered and Sam strained to see her in the darkness that swirled all around. "Time to come home Sammy."_

"Sam? You there? You okay?" Dean asked, one hand on the steering wheel the other on Sam's shoulder. Sam had just gone blank, almost like when he had a vision; just completely closed off to the world around him. He jerked and looked at Dean, his eyes showing recognition. "You alright?"

"Yeah… sorry about that."

"What was that? What happened to you?" Dean asked with growing anxiety. He felt so out of his depth.

"Just… just remembering," he sighed, tipping his head back against the seat and closing his eyes tightly, trying not to remember what happened that day, the demon… losing the colt to him… losing the first bit of himself to the demon and the stupid war or whatever it was supposed to have been; trying not to remember Kelly's eyes filled with tears, as she followed the demon's every instruction; he just tried to make it go away.

"Sam how did you—" Dean began, trying to prod his brother into continuing their conversation, into keeping the silence from building between them, but Sam interrupted him.

"Could we just not talk right now?" he asked, eyes still closed.

Dean just stared at Sam, wanting desperately for him to share what he was thinking and feeling, and not at all sure how to approach this different Sam. So he gave in… for now. "Yeah, Sam, sure, whatever you want," he said, watching his kid brother out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

"Stop it," Sam said. It had been three hours since either of them had spoken, and the classic rock that filled the car did little to distill the obvious anger in Sam's voice.

"Stop what?" Dean asked; unaware that he had done anything bothersome.

"Stop trying to think of ways to get me to talk. It's giving me a headache," Sam snarled. "And seriously, your last three were really idiotic and probably things I could get you arrested for," he added with a sideways glance at Dean.

Dean for his part looked absolutely dumbfounded. "You mean you… but… how… why… did you…"

"Yes I can read your mind, and at least it's making more sense than your sentences," Sam snorted and he sounded slightly amused.

"You're telepathic now?" Dean said, and winced as his voice lowered and made 'telepathic' sound like something forbidden or dirty – a crime. Sam glared at him in return. "But why did you—"

"I wasn't _trying _to," Sam explained, his voice softening slightly as if he realized this was a strange subject for Dean. Of course he could read Dean's mind, so he probably did know how difficult it was for him. "But you're thinking so loud, I can't block it out. Did you always think this much? 'Cause I gotta say, I really wondered if you even had a brain, much less used it all the time…"

Dean chuckled for a minute, but then turned serious again. "I'm sorry Sam, I'm just… at a loss I guess, I don't really know what to do or say – but of course you knew that."

"I didn't realize it would be…" Sam began but trailed off.

"Come on man, _I_ can't read your mind, so you'll have to finish your sentences," Dean pointed out with a smile.

"I guess I don't really know what to do either; never really planned how things would go once I tracked you down," Sam said quietly, his face turned away from Dean.

"Well at least we're in the same boat then, Sammy," Dean sighed.

They rode on again in silence, and Dean tried his best to keep his thoughts 'quiet', whatever that meant. Sam for his part seemed to be doing his best to not look in Dean's general direction, staring out the passenger window, his head turned away from Dean.

Dean had to admit – in his quietest of thoughts – that he never really pondered on what it would be like once Sam came back. He could never get past the whole Sam returning thing to put thought into how they would interact, how things would be between them. And he would have to admit that he had no idea how to handle this situation. The silence that used to be so comfortable felt incredibly awkward now. And obviously Sam was hiding a whole hell of a lot from him and didn't plan on talking about it anytime soon. But Dean had to hold on to the fact that Sam _did_ come back – that had to mean something.

* * *

Sam rested his head against the cool window of the Impala, zoning out; his ears focused on the strains of Metallica blasting through the speakers. Dean's fingers would intermittently tap out the bass line on the steering wheel, but it seemed like one of those nervous habits, not anything he was consciously doing. The guitar whined and it hit a high note and Sam's mind took off without his authority.

_She was crying again – a piercing wail that made his ears hurt and his head ache. He would have yelled at her, told her to shut up, or joined in the wailing if he had been able to produce any sound with his voice. His throat burned just thinking about speaking; still raw and torn inside, and he tried not to imagine what that must look like; tried not to think about how it had gotten that way in the first place._

_She switched tactics, the crying ending and mindless chatter beginning. She spoke to people who were dead; people who were missing; and people she would never see again. The girl was crazy, but she had probably been completely sane when the demon first ran across her._

_Kelly – a threat and an example. He could still remember the way she set her lips into a line of stoicism when she approached him. Her eyes shined with tears but she coldly followed all of his – its – the demon's – instructions. She still hurt him and she didn't stop when he started screaming or even when he blacked out. She had been sane once and the demon had mangled her into this… thing, and she was what they would all turn into if they didn't do what he said; if they didn't listen…_

_The Demon spoke to her softly and she stopped chattering; her eyes locking on Sam's. Panic set in as she resolutely pushed herself to her feet, crossing the shadows of the room and approaching him with murder in her eyes._

Sam blinked rapidly, the memory fading. He breathed slowly in an attempt to calm his heart as it seemed ready to burst out of his chest.

"You okay?" Dean asked with such concern and worry that Sam immediately vowed to himself that Dean would never know the details of those memories. He might imagine things, but Sam was sure Dean's imagination could never even get close to the horrific reality of it. He just nodded and watched as Dean glanced at him before turning his eyes back to the road.

* * *

They rode on in silence until the clock hit 8 p.m. and Dean decided it was time to stop for the night. Hoping to cajole Sam out of his brooding, he brought him to a small diner to eat. Away from the shadows of the car Dean took a look at Sam's face and noticed something he hadn't seen before – a fine scar on his right temple that ran from beneath that damn hat down to his cheek. He wondered how that had happened.

The food came and Dean crossed one concern off of his list, because if he had been worried about Sam's appetite before, he certainly had no cause for concern now. After ordering about half the menu Sam went about devouring everything short of the napkins. Dean actually stopped mid-bite to gape at Sam who was eyeing the rest of Dean's fries. Dean pulled his plate closer to himself. "You want more food you order your own, man," Dean said crossly.

Sam just smiled; a lazy smile that made it to his eyes and Dean thought his heart had stopped as he observed Sam being so… Sam-like. And as soon as it was there it was gone and Sam's expression was as cold and hard as it had been since the parking lot of the Gateway Motel, and Dean's heart ached.

* * *

**A/N: I would love to know what you thought, please review!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Ada**


	3. Patience

**A/N: The majority of this chapter was written before Born Under a Bad Sign, so any similarities are just an eerie coincidence.**

**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.

* * *

**

**All That's Left**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 3: Patience

* * *

"One moment of patience may ward off great disaster. One moment of impatience may ruin a whole life." Chinese Proverb

* * *

Dean checked them into a small hotel; grateful for the chance to sit around and maybe possibly talk to his brother without driving and the radio interrupting him. As he grabbed the bags from the car his hand skimmed over the laptop case and he decided to leave it for now – not sure what Sam's reaction would be to it, and not sure he wanted to give Sam another way to ignore him.

The hotel room itself was unremarkable; two beds, one night stand, a TV stand, desk, and chair. The walls were that strange pinkish brown color and the beds had thin green covers. Sam settled down on the bed by the window and immediately searched out the remote, flicking the TV on.

Dean watched him from the doorway and stifled a frustrated curse. Sam turned to look at him all the same, quirking an eyebrow at Dean. Sighing, the younger of the two turned the TV off and slid to the side of the bed, feet on the floor; facing Dean.

Dean said nothing at first, removing his coat and tossing the bags on the floor. He sat on the edge of the other bed and faced Sam, their knees almost touching. Sam had that 'whatever it is let's just get it over with' look on his face that Dean recognized from frequent fights with John Winchester.

Dean scrutinized Sam's form as they sat under the bright lights of the hotel room. Sam had taken off his coat, revealing the loose fitting long-sleeved tee underneath. Sam looked thinner; he seemed to have lost some of his muscle mass. But that could easily be fixed (especially considering Sam's large appetite as of late) by some food and Dean forcing his brother back into training.

"Are you cold?" Dean asked.

"No… I'm alright," Sam said, wondering why Dean had asked a question that random. He knew his brother had difficulty with the so-called 'chick-flick moments,' but asking if he was cold? That was weird, even for Dean.

"Then why don't you take the hat off?" Dean asked, reaching forward and tugging the cap from Sam's head before the younger of the two could stop him. Sam dropped his gaze and Dean just stared. Sam's hair was short, almost a buzz-cut but clearly growing back in. Dean, who hadn't seen his brother's forehead since he was six was taken aback by Sam's sudden style change. But what bothered him the most was the bald spot on the side of Sam's head, on the right side. The patches of missing hair were arranged in some sort of symbol, and if Sam's hair had been longer they would have covered it and he never would have noticed.

"What the hell?" Dean asked, moving to sit on the bed beside Sam. Sam grimaced, but made no move to stop him as Dean inspected the mark on his head with his fingertips. "Is this a brand?" Dean asked as he stared at the now-clearly burned skin. The scar Dean had noticed earlier ran up through the brand, almost as if to nullify it. He reached out to touch it again and this time Sam shrugged away.

_Screams pierced the darkness, and he struggled beneath the strong grip on his skull. He heard someone draw near, and then something hot and painful struck his head and he screamed until his throat ripped and he choked on blood. _

"_Just a little insurance, Sammy boy, wouldn't want you running off and hiding on me."_

Sam jerked at the sound of his name, pulled out of the painful memory.

"Jesus Sam, where have you been?" Dean asked, his voice sounding worn and haggard, and thankfully not revealing the anger behind the question. Dean's hand was on the back of Sam's neck now, his fingers feeling the tightness in his younger brother's muscles.

Sam shrugged away from Dean, standing and stalking to the other side of the room. "Around," he answered simply.

"Sam," Dean almost growled.

Sam looked across the room at Dean – whose eyes were filled with anger and frustration, and something inside of him snapped. "What Dean, what do you want me to say?! That I don't even remember the names of the towns I was in? That I spent the better part of a year trapped in a basement screaming my lungs out?! What do you want me to say, Dean?! What?!" Did Dean think he could just tell him what happen? That it was that easy? There were things Sam swore he would never even think of again, much less discuss with any other living being.

"Sam…" Dean just said his name, and it was sounded different than last time, distorted and somewhat strangled. Sam noticed that Dean's eyes were wet and he turned away, unable to look at him anymore. He hadn't wanted to hurt Dean – that was why he had planned on keeping quiet. He just had not idea of how to act or what to do. He knew Dean would want to know everything, but his knowing would only hurt both of them. If he knew everything… he would never look Sam in the eye again, and Sam couldn't bear that.

"I need some air," he said abruptly, grabbing his coat and key. His hands shook slightly as he turned the doorknob and escaped the tension of the hotel room.

* * *

Dean just sat there on the bed, staring at the closed door across from him and trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Only Sam could go from calm to completely freaking out in two seconds flat. It was like a bomb going off and always left Dean standing in the dust wondering what had set it off. He just did not know how to handle Sam. He felt like he was walking on eggshells with him, attempting to figure out what to say, how to act, it was frustrating and he had no idea how to fix things.

But Sam walking out that door…

Dean knew he was just upset and would be back, but he couldn't deny the small voice in his mind that told him that Sam had been gone for over two years, and could just as easily disappear again. But then Dean countered it and told himself Sam wasn't going to leave him; because when Sam left two years ago he had been on a mission; filled with purpose – the Sam who walked out of the hotel room just looked lost.

* * *

Sam returned a little bit after 12a.m., and Dean looked up from where he had sat at the table for the last four hours. Sam barely grunted at him in recognition, his head hanging dejectedly, and if Dean looked close enough he could see guilt at the corners of Sam's expression. Dean watched him walk around the room, looking around as if casing the place, and then finally settling down on the edge of the bed. Sam did not smell like booze or cigarettes, and for that Dean was grateful, he just couldn't help but wonder where Sam had been all that time. Just thinking of the things Sam might have been through made Dean want to hole up in the corner of a bar with Jack, Jim, and Jose, and yet Sam who actually _lived_ it had been what – taking a walk?

"I'm sorry," Sam said gruffly.

"Don't be, I shouldn't have pushed," Dean responded simply.

Sam nodded, but avoided direct eye contact. "I'm going to go to bed," Sam sighed.

* * *

_"Why… why are you… doing this?" Sam strained to produce words through his damaged throat._

"_I don't have any other choice," Kelly said, and for some reason Sam thought that was the first time she had actually spoken to someone real in a very long time._

"_You always have a choice," Sam murmured; empty words, he knew, but he had to try._

"_You think you have a choice? You don't, Sam, you're going to be just like them soon, I know you are," she hissed. Her voice, though filled with emptiness still retained a sing-song quality, and for a moment Sam tried to picture her before all of this, see the person she had been – young, vibrant, beautiful. Now she was nothing more than a despicable creature, doing evil things in the name of her 'father,' that damn demon. "I'd kill you if he asked me to," she announced. "It would be easy. Just put too much pressure on your brain and it'd explode. I did it once before, and saw grey matter slide out of the man's ears when it was done. But Father wasn't proud of me; it takes a lot to impress Father."_

_She cocked her head to the side, dirty and greasy blonde hair falling into her face, and for a brief second in time her eyes cleared of their murderous haze and Sam saw a scared girl lurking beneath, and then she smiled. Sam's world exploded with pain, he pulled at the weakening ropes that bound his hands and tried to get them to his throbbing head. It felt like being struck again and again with something hard and sharp and she was not relenting this time._

_"Father says you have to submit," she said. "Father wants you to be with him forever."_

_"No…" Sam gritted out, forcing his eyes open and staring at her. "Never." There was a ripping sound and Sam's hands were freed. Without realizing his intentions or what he was doing; without wanting anything other than to make the pain stop; he lunged forward at her. Her eyes widened with surprise, and then something Sam couldn't decipher, before her body hit the floor with a thud. _

_

* * *

_

Sam sat up in bed quickly, but did not make a sound. His hands were shaking and his heart pounding. He slowed his breathing, forcing away the images of the dank basement and concentrating on the hotel room he was staying in. His gaze strayed to Dean, sleeping peacefully on his side, and he let out a long sigh. He laid back down and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything besides Kelly and those eyes that seemed to stare at him long after she died.

* * *

Sam and Dean were out on the highway again; engaged in another bout of tense silence when Sam's cell phone began to ring. Dean looked surprised, not even knowing that his brother still had a phone, and watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. His brother rooted around in the small bag he had returned to Dean with – the contents of which Dean had still not seen – and pulled out a small silver phone. He stared at the viewscreen and seemed to contemplate his options before clicking the sound off and tossing it back into the bag.

"Who was that?" Dean asked.

"Just someone I used to know," Sam said with a shrug.

A chirping announced that someone had left a voicemail. And then it began to ring again. Sam heaved a sigh and pulled it back out, turning it to 'silent' before putting it away again.

"Maybe you should just answer, tell them to leave you alone," Dean suggested.

"Tried that already; didn't work."

"Oh," Dean said simply, wishing that Sam would elaborate, and then wondering who exactly would be calling Sam on the cell phone he didn't even know existed.

* * *

They were in a small motel outside of Indianapolis watching something mindless on TV when Sam winced and put a hand to his head. Dean watched in surprise, he had thought, _hoped_, that with the demon gone Sam would have stopped having visions.

But unlike the times Sam had cried out in pain and looked like he was fighting it, now Sam merely held his head and let it come. But Dean could tell it still hurt; and he wondered how someone could just get used to that. A couple of moments later it ended and Sam was blinking, lines of pain in his forehead.

"What was it?" Dean asked, almost afraid to know.

"I uh… I have to get to Arkansas," Sam said.

"Okay," Dean said, rising to collect their things.

"No Dean… I have to go… by myself," Sam corrected.

"Tough shit Sammy, I'm coming with you."

"Dean."

"No Sam, you left me once and I didn't see you again for two years, I'm not letting that happen again," Dean argued. He was willing to do anything for Sam, but not let him leave. He would never let Sam go off on his own again, not when he had come back so broken and changed.

"I'm going to come back," Sam said petulantly. He was not happy with being treated like a child after being independent for so long.

"Well Sam, maybe I'm having trouble trusting that right now." Dean's words seemed to have struck a chord with Sam and he lowered his head slightly. "So you're stuck with me."

Sam nodded, knowing that he had lost. And this would make it easier to get to Arkansas. But once they arrived he would need to get rid of Dean. There was no way he would let Dean in on what he just saw; it was his problem, and he would take care of it.

* * *

**A/N: Ah the plot thickens. What did Sam see? What will happen when the boys arrive in Arkansas? **

**Thanks for reading, please review!**

**-Ada**


	4. Panic

**A/N: Here I am with another chapter. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned "Supernatural" there would never be an off-season.

* * *

**

**All That's Left**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 4: Panic

* * *

"Time, which changes people, does not alter the image we have retained of them." -Marcel Proust

* * *

It took a little over a day and a half for them to drive to Arkansas, taking turns with driving. Dean barely slept while Sam drove, watching his brother pensively instead. Sam tried to ignore it, especially since the whole way he was thinking of ways he could ditch Dean once they arrived. However, he could already tell from some of Dean's louder thoughts that he was planning on keeping a close eye on his younger brother, and that could prove troublesome. Sam did not want Dean to end up in the middle of the situation he was going into.

While Dean drove, music blaring, Sam's mind kept shifting back to his vision. There was a girl screaming, and objects soaring through the air, launched by an unseen force – telekinesis. And behind it all stood someone he recognized, someone he knew, and that was the worst part. Because if Dean followed him, if Dean was there when Sam confronted this person, then he would find out, he would _know_. He would realize things that Sam never wanted him to know, and that worried him. He knew he had to take care of this himself. He couldn't trust anyone else with this, not even the others who went through the same thing he did, this was his responsibility.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, watching as the screen displayed the same name that had been calling him so many times. He switched it off and put it away, not wanting to deal with that now.

"Sam," Dean said as he pulled off the highway. "You've been pretty quiet, what's going on in that head of yours? Anything you'd like to share?"

"Not really," Sam replied with little emotion. "Pull off at the next stop light, there's a motel just beyond it."

"You using your psychic powers to get directions?" Dean asked with a grin.

"No, it's called a map," Sam responded moodily.

"So, when are you planning on telling what went on in your vision?" Dean asked, hands tensing on the steering wheel. He figured a moving vehicle was the best place to stage this conversation, because he had a feeling that Sam would take any excuse he could to storm off and take care of this – whatever it was – by himself.

"Maybe I'm not planning to," Sam responded, his voice steady and eyes staring out the windshield.

"Sam come on, I need to know what's going on, I need to be able to be prepared," Dean protested.

"No you don't!" Sam said with more force than he had intended to. "This is my problem, okay? Not yours."

"You're my brother, which makes this my problem," Dean shot back.

"Dean – we're not kids anymore. I don't need you to protect me. I've taken care of myself for a while now. And you've just gotta trust me on this, you can't help. I need to do this by myself or else people could get hurt."

"Well then couldn't you get hurt if you do this alone?" Dean pushed.

"Maybe. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Sam," Dean growled. "You can't do this; just take care of this stuff by yourself. I'm here, and I can help you!"

"No you can't!" Sam shouted. His head began to throb, a pulsing ache that had him bringing his hands up to his temples. Dean yelled at him, but the words were lost to Sam, as were the angry thoughts that followed each one, louder and louder until he buried his head in his hands, trying to make the pain go away. Finally Dean stopped, noticing the situation his brother was in, but now it was someone else's thoughts that disturbed the silence, someone else forcing their way into his mind.

("Sam, Sam, Sam. You really think you can stop me?"), the voice laughed in his head, echoing and the pain increased.

("Daniel"), Sam responded tensely.

("Oh good job. But you already knew I was here. That's why you came, right? Sammy and his _visions_! Hah, what a joke. What are you going to do, Sam? How are you going to stop me? C'mon, let's hear it. **Tell me.**") He laughed, and the pitch rose.

Sam clutched at his skull, completely unaware of the grip Dean had on his shoulder, of his panicked questions. Daniel's laugh echoed again and tore through his mind. In that moment, Daniel sounded so much like the demon that Sam fought as a reflex response, suddenly desperate to get him out. But when Daniel's touch faded, he was thrown back into a moment that had long since occurred.

_"You thought you would be alone in your head, Sammy? How foolish of you. Don't you know that I'm everywhere? I'm in your thoughts, in your dreams, I'll follow you everywhere, you'll never be free of me, never." _

Sam's hand fumbled with the car door, and Dean slammed on the brakes as Sam shoved the door open and ran blindly into the street. Tires screeched and he rushed through traffic without incident, eyes closed and head buried in his hands. In his mind he wasn't in the road, he wasn't in Arkansas; he was in Nebraska, staring down a pair of yellow eyes every time he closed his eyes.

_"You can't run Sammy boy, and you can't hide. Not from me. I'll always be with you. You are mine."_

Dean pulled the Impala to the curb, tossing it in to park and racing out of the car. Barely stopping to lock the door he tore off after his brother. Sam's run had been erratic, not his usual strong gait or pace, and so Dean knew he had a chance of catching him. He reached the side of the road and now the land he ran on was frozen and hard.

He lost sight of Sam as his brother ran through a copse of dense trees, and when Dean broke through them his brother was nowhere to be seen. He finally slowed, staring around and trying to choose a direction. It was dark outside, and the moonlight was just bright enough to guide his way.

He wandered into a small park, his heart beating hard, but not from the running, instead from sheer panic and fear. Sam had just taken off, given barely any warning before he leapt out of what would have been a moving vehicle. But Sam leaving, that wasn't what really scared him, that wasn't the reason he ditched his car and ran into a busy street, it was the way in which Sam left. Because it wasn't the younger brother he had grown up with who took off, no, Sam had behaved like a frightened animal or child, running to escape something, something so unnerving that he had panicked. He hadn't been running from Dean that much he knew. Sam had been hurting, had been clutching his head and muttering, it was something in his mind that caused him to rush out of the Impala, a memory or a flashback.

Dean had no idea how to handle something like that, it was beyond his scope of understanding; of experience. He could fight ghosts and demons, he could shoot a target, and he could burn a corpse, but he couldn't fight something that didn't even exist, he couldn't save Sam from a memory, from something that touched only him.

He had no choice but to face this though, as he finally caught sight of Sam. From behind a tree he saw a head covered in terribly short, soft brown hair, and as much as he wanted to run to Sam, he knew better. He approached slowly, as if up to a wounded animal, unsure of how Sam would respond. However, Sam didn't seem to notice him at all, and when Dean rounded the tree it was to find his brother leaning against the trunk, knees pulled up to hide his face and arms locked around his legs. He was shaking, rocking lightly, his back hitting the tree again and again. Dean knelt beside him, taking in the way Sam had squeezed his eyes shut, and was muttering "Get out, leave me alone," over and over.

"Sam?" Dean whispered. The younger of the pair showed no indication that he had even heard Dean, and so Dean carefully reached out and touched his shoulder. Sam jumped at the tactile contact, his eyes flicking open, horror filling them as he searched for his attack. His eyes finally settled on Dean, but seemed to look right through him.

"Please leave me alone," he whispered, averting his gaze, staring down again.

"Sammy," Dean sighed, grasping Sam by the shoulder and using his other hand to turn Sam's head, forcing him to look at him. "Sam, it's me. It's Dean. Look at me, Sammy," he said slowly and caringly.

_"Sam, you know what Father wants, why do you refuse to act as his child?" the speaker, a woman with long black hair knelt beside him, and he turned away from her. "You know what this means, don't you? It doesn't have to be this way, just stop trying to run, Sam. You know it's a wasted effort anyway. You're my brother, we're all siblings, and he is our father. Come to your true family."_

_She grasped his face with her hands, brown eyes staring straight into his. "They never loved you, Sammy. You know that. You remember that. But don't worry, I'll show you." His head exploded with pain and every bad memory of his father and Dean flashed behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut, trying to block the images out, but they came quicker and faster. And his father kept yelling at him, repeating "If you go, stay gone," again and again. Dean was disappointed in him, and glancing at him reproachfully, telling him he screwed up, he fucked up. His father was there, moody as ever, glaring him down and saying he was the reason Dean got hurt, he nearly caused all of them to lose their lives. All of the memories of terrible times, awful times, taken out of context and twisted for the demon's sick purpose._

_"They hate you, see? They hate you." _

Sam tried to turn away, but Dean wouldn't let go, and so he tried to look to the side, anywhere but at the person in front of him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

_"You're my favorite, Sammy, my favorite," the demon smiled._

"Dean!" Sam cried suddenly. His eyes cleared and he saw Dean leaning over him, his hands on Sam's shoulders. Dean smiled in relief. "What happened?" he asked, realizing he was sitting on the ground. Hadn't they been in the Impala?

"You tell me, Sammy," Dean sighed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay," Sam replied, despite the fact that he was still trembling, still hugging his legs. He released his hold, and pushed himself to his feet, inching away from Dean and his touch. "I'm fine," he added for emphasis as he realized that Daniel's mental conversation had sparked a flashback; that he had run out of the Impala at some point and made Dean chase after him.

"Come on, let's get back to the car," Dean suggested when he realized that Sam was not going to tell him what happened. And standing in a park during the night in a town he didn't know was probably not the most ideal setting for that conversation anyway. "Your head still bothering you?" he asked as he and Sam walked in the direction he had left the Impala.

"No, it's okay now," Sam responded, but his voice sounded tired and pained. "Where did you leave the car?" he asked with confusion as Dean led him through the trees.

"I just pulled over on that road we were on," he said. "When you ran out I had to follow you, couldn't exactly go looking for a parking space."

"Sorry about that," Sam said, looking honestly remorseful. "I don't… I don't know why I did that, I just… I felt like I had to get away, I didn't even realize I was doing it, I just had to get out of there."

"What… what set you off?" Dean asked as the Impala finally came into view, hoping his anger at Sam for not telling him about the vision wasn't what made Sam feel so trapped. Luckily his car seemed okay, no new scratches or dents that he could see as he approached.

"Um… I don't know," Sam lied. He did wonder why Daniel would have reminded him of the demon. It wasn't as if the demon had been the last person to communicate with him in his mind, or the last to do it so violently or viciously.

They reached the car, and Sam noticed Dean watching him closely, nervously, as he climbed in. His brother lingered outside for a minute, the driver's door open and his hand on the roof. He sighed quietly and then climbed in beside Sam. Though Sam tried to block Dean's thoughts, one overriding concern made it passed his shields.

("I don't even know him anymore.")

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head against the window, trying to block the pain and the sadness that came from that single sentiment.

* * *

Dean picked up food from a random place with a drive-thru before they arrived at the motel, intent on not letting Sam out of his sight for an instant. The younger man seemed spent and did not argue. They ate in silence, and then Sam went to bed almost immediately.

Dean sat up for a while, watching TV and alternating his glances between it and his little brother. He wondered again why they were in Arkansas, what Sam was preparing to face, and why he insisted on hiding everything from Dean. As painful as it was to try and figure out 'new Sam' it was a million times better than Sam being gone; than the time when Sam was missing, and he would endure anything so long as Sam was actually with him. He had to believe that eventually Sam would tell him the truth; that eventually he would trust him enough, or get over whatever hang-ups were holding him back, and talk to him.

Sam lay awake, his eyes closed and his breathing slowed, a deceptive tactic he perfected during his time as one of the demon's 'children.' He was worried about what would happen in the morning. Daniel had clearly felt his arrival, all of the 'children' were psychically connected, but he had no idea that Daniel had managed to increase his power in such a short amount of time. He had to face him, as soon as possible, he had to stop him from hurting people, and try and understand how one of his group, one of his people, had helped defeat a demon and then turned into a killer. If it could happen to one of them, it could happen to all of them, and he needed to be prepared, he needed to understand.

And more than anything else, he needed to keep Dean from finding out about any of it. He didn't want to sully his brother with the filth him and his kind carried with him. He would have avoided Dean forever if he thought it would have been better for either of them, but he decided it wouldn't be, so now he had to find a way to make this situation livable for the both of them.

He had to find a way to just be _Sam_ again, to put the past behind him, because he knew that was what Dean needed.

It was what they both needed.

* * *

**A/N: I would love to know what you thought! Next time we meet Daniel and there's a showdown to be had!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**_Ada_**


	5. Brother' to 'Brother'

**All That's Left**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 5: 'Brother' to 'Brother'

* * *

He knew Sam had changed while he was away, and he should have anticipated just how much; should have known that a sneaky bastard like Sam would only become sneakier in his time spent engaged in subterfuge. So really, Dean should not have been surprised when he awoke to find the bed next to his empty and the weapon's bag void of a few items. It still hit like a punch to the gut to see that emptiness though. And in his sleepiness Dean almost thought that Sam had never actually been there; that he had imagined it all. But then he saw Sam's clothes bag at the foot of the bed, still pitifully small as Dean kept forgetting to go somewhere to buy him some supplies and Sam never asked. 

Adrenaline fueled by his distrust of Sam and worry that he had gone off half-cocked after whatever menace had haunted his vision obliterated the last of Dean's grogginess, bringing him fully awake and prowling the room for any clue or hint that would tell him what had happened to Sam, where he had gone, and what he had been after.

He quickly ran over what Sam had taken – the Glock handgun and three knives – two of which had holsters attached. With weapons like those, Sam was obviously hunting something corporeal, something alive. Dean couldn't think of what that could be in this area, other than a human. Sam's vision had led them there, and as far as he knew, Sam only ever had visions that were linked to the demon. If the demon was really gone, then what would have given Sam that vision; what would he have seen?

Unwillingly, his mind was drawn back to Max Miller, the only other psychic like Sam he had encountered before Sam bolted. The telekinetic had been dangerous, disturbed, and more than willing to kill anyone who got in his way. He was the first person who had triggered Sam's visions in the daytime.

Sam never said it, but Dean knew he had come across more people like him. And Dean had met two after Sam's departure, Andy and his brother Weber, whose first name Dean never caught, having been unconscious when he attacked them. Of course while he was out, Andy had been forced to murder his twin himself, being the third 'psychic' he encountered that turned to murder. All in all, he knew what other psychics were capable of, and it was more than enough to send him panicking over where Sam could be; knowing what his brother could be facing all alone.

He was going through the bag, choosing his weapons when he came across Sam's phone lying on the floor, kicked underneath the bed. Of course the little bastard would've left it behind, not giving Dean even one chance of getting a hold of him. When Dean flipped it open he saw the view screen reveal that his brother had several missed calls and messages, all from someone whose caller ID labeled them as 'Ava.' He called Sam's voicemail, hoping maybe this mysterious person could give him some guidance.

_"Sam, it's Ava – again. Are you ever going to call me back? At least to let me know you're alright? Look… I had a vision about Daniel, and I know you've probably 'seen' it too, and knowing you, you also saw the location. And I know you're probably running out to confront him, but Sam, please, __**please**__, get some help on this. You can't face him alone. Please call someone, Billy, Kevin, Andy, anyone, just please don't do this by yourself. You've seen what he's capable of, you can't beat him by yourself."_

_"Sam, it's me again. I called the guys, they said they never heard from you. Does this mean you're out there alone? Sam come on, be reasonable. This isn't your fault, none of it is. I don't know where Daniel is, I don't know where you are, so you have to tell someone so they can help you."_

_"Ava here. Sam please,__** don't confront him alone**__. You know what, even if you're going to, could you call me, just to let me know you're alive? I'm worried about you, okay? Everyone else keeps in touch, so where are you? Are you alone? Did you find Dean? Sam please call me."_

_"Avoid the East Ridge. That's where he stabs you in the back."_

Dean was out of the room as soon as the last message finished an assault rifle and a map of the town in his hands. Ava had said the 'East Ridge' so that was where he would go; it was his only decent lead anyway.

* * *

Dean recognized his brother instantly, tall and gangly, standing at the base of the cliff. He was facing off against someone Dean couldn't see, speaking to him too quietly for Dean to make out the words. The other person appeared to be the same age as Sam, which fit if he were one of the chosen psychics. He had thick blonde hair that was almost in his eyes, but he was shorter and stockier than Sam. 

From what he could make out, neither the mystery person nor his brother were injured, and by the way their argument seemed to be heating up, they couldn't have been there for very long. Dean felt his insides unclench slightly with the relief of knowing he had arrived before Ava's prophecy of Sam being stabbed in the back could be fulfilled. He was pulled from his thoughts as the stranger began to shout at Sam.

* * *

"You act like you're so different Sammy, like you're not one of us! But I remember when you killed Kelly; suffocated her in a fit of rage. Poor girl wasn't quite right in the head, was she? But you didn't take that into account when you murdered her, did you? You became one of us that night, Sam. No matter what you say, how you try to deny it, you know it's the truth. You'll always be one of the 'children,' a brother." Daniel was smiling, his crooked teeth revealed as he said those words. The psychics had all considered themselves family. 

Sam's jaw tightened; and he forced himself to look past the jibe, to not allow his anger to override his judgment. When he sensed Daniel that morning, he knew the other psychic was waiting for him, baiting him to come out and fight. And, right decision or not, he had decided to face him. It wouldn't matter anyway, in that close of proximity Daniel could have found him whenever he wanted, could have attacked when Sam wasn't prepared; when Dean could be caught in the crossfire and hurt. Or perhaps worse, when Dean could hear all of this, could find out what Sam had done, what he had become.

It was better this way. It involved no one besides him and Daniel. He needed to know what went wrong with him, if only to prevent it from happening to the others. He understood how they became what they were, why they had all done what they did, but this newest career step for Daniel – this he just didn't get. Because none of their number should have randomly turned into a cross-country serial killer so soon after yanking their own destinies back from the steel jaws of the demon who ruined and ran their lives.

"What happened to you, Daniel? You fought the demon with us, you helped us destroy him, and now here are you, killing people for fun. How did you get so messed up?"

"I'm just being what I was always meant to be. What Father wanted me to be! I never should have helped you kill him, poor Father. I never realized that you just wanted to kill him and go off and do nothing for the rest of your damn life, Sam! I thought we were starting something! A coup of that proportion! We could've ruled Hell if we wanted to! We certainly could rule this stinking piece of rock! We're better than the humans, it's our birthright, our destiny! But of course you – Father's favorite – had a different plan. You're pathetic Sam, you and your 'normal' and your dream for a different life. I don't understand why Father liked you so damn much. You're not special, Sam. Not in any way that counts."

"You know why he liked me best, I am the strongest," Sam boasted, hoping to arouse Daniel's anger as he stepped towards him. "You can what, spin things around in the air? Parlor tricks, Daniel. I can make people see things, I can track you and the other pain in the ass psychics wherever you go; I can get inside your head and see things you don't even remember. I can do anything! And that's why Father wanted me to be the leader. That's why Father loved me more than you!" He said the words to incense his opponent, knowing that Daniel had less control over his power when he was angry. It clearly worked, as the man's face contorted in rage and he raised his hand to attack Sam.

However, he seemed to think better of it, lowering his hand and chuckling. "Sammy, you almost had me going for a minute there. You were always good with the mind games weren't you? I guess it makes sense, you sure had them used on you enough, didn't you? Remember that time when you were down in the basement with Jill and she got all in your head and made you remember bad things, Sammy? I remember you screaming, cursing your father and your brother, and swearing that they would pay. I remember you swearing your loyalty to Father and claiming we were your real family – your only family."

* * *

Dean had drawn closer throughout the argument, and he was on his way down the ridge when Daniel's words stopped him cold. He waited for Sam to deny what he had said, to tell him that never happened, that he never hated Dean or their father that he never made the demon his family, but Sam didn't. Dean had let Sam calling the demon 'father' in his earlier boast slide if only because he recognized the tactic Sam was using; how he was trying to anger his opponent so that he would do something stupid and reckless. But now… he had to wonder if Sam meant it. He stole a glance at his little brother, and saw Sam's jaw tight and muscles tensed. 

"She tricked me," Sam hissed, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Yeah and you got her back didn't you? A steel pole through the chest. Ouch. Face it Sammo, you're no better than the rest of us. You're just a cold-blooded killer like me."

"The people I killed deserved it."

"Oh yeah?" Daniel asked, quirking a platinum eyebrow.

* * *

Dean forced himself to start walking again, to ignore what Sam was saying, to ignore what had been insinuations and were now stark truths, truths Sam didn't defend himself against, but collaborated. His brother had killed people; had killed people and had no problem admitting it; justifying it. This wasn't the same kid who had refused to bring a gun in when they confronted Max Miller. And yeah, Dean had killed before, and he refused to feel guilty for doing what he had to do in order to protect his family, but Sam had never been that way. For Sam some things were black and white, and killing people, that was wrong no matter what the circumstances. And now, Sam just stood there admitting to it, Sam saw nothing wrong with it. Sam who just called the demon that killed their mom and ruined their lives 'Father'. John Winchester might not have been the best Dad, but to give away his title to the thing that murdered Sam's mom and girlfriend was just incomprehensible. What the hell had those bastards done to his little brother? 

Dean traveled a little further down the ridge before he finally found a good location. He wasn't sure what would happen between Sam and this Daniel guy; if he could trust Ava's message; but he wasn't going to let him hurt Sam. He set up the rifle, taking aim down at the blonde jackass, and just waiting for him to make a move, to give Dean a reason to fire.

* * *

"What do you want, Daniel," Sam asked quietly. "You knew I was here, and you made contact first, so why?" 

"Sam, you're the one who sought me out. I was perfectly happy traveling the country killing people, you're the one who decided to crash my party, to spoil my fun, to cast your Sam Winchester gloom and doom all over everything. So the real question is, what do you want?" Daniel walked past Sam, heading towards an abandoned building at the bottom of the ridge. Sam reached out to grab his arm and stop him, but an invisible force pushed his arm away, and he knew they were in trouble.

This spot Sam had liked for this confrontation, there was basically nothing a telekinetic could use as a weapon. Well, nothing besides the weapons Sam himself had brought, but otherwise the area was clear. He knew what Daniel could do, he had seen the man gut people with a twig, choke someone with a button, bludgeon a man to death with a tire. He could manipulate an object's density to make something relatively harmless into a killing device. In that abandoned house there was no telling what he could find, what he could use.

"I just want to understand, Daniel," Sam said calmly to the other man's back. Daniel's muscles were tensed, and his aura gave off a sort of humming that Sam recognized as a centering of psychic energy. Daniel was 'powering up' for lack of a better term, and Sam felt himself tense, senses heightening as he waited for the inevitable, for his 'brother' to lash out.

Daniel shook his head. "You're not here for me, Sam. You're scared, that's what you are," Daniel responded evenly, turning to face Sam again. His face was a cold expressionless mask and Sam slowly reached towards the knife in his jacket pocket. "You're worried that there's something wrong in my head, that there's something in me that made me do this. And you're only worried about that because you're afraid there's something wrong with you, too. Well Sam, let me put your mind at ease, we're all killers, have been ever since the demon came when we were babies. And if I'm capable of doing this, of killing these people, then so are you and so are all of them!"

Daniel's eyes snapped to Sam's right hand that was about to close on the knife. "And I'm not going to let you stop me!"

Daniel motioned with his hands, and the knife was ripped out of Sam's pocket and into Daniel's waiting hand, while at the same time a tree branch came out of nowhere, flying right at Sam. He threw himself sideways, landing hard on his left arm and watching as the branch careened past him and lodged itself in the rock wall behind him. When he turned back to where Daniel had stood, the other man was already gone, and Sam could sense him inside the building, waiting, and plotting.

Sam pulled a knife from the holster on his forearm, and without a second thought, he raced towards the house.

* * *

**A/N: Let me know what you thought!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**_Ada_**


	6. Killer

**Sorry for the delay on getting this chapter up. But if you're bored, you should all go check out my other SPN story "House of Cards." /shameless plug**

* * *

**All That's Left**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 6: Killer

* * *

_Oh no,_

_here it is again_

_I need to know_

_when I will fall in decay_

_Something wrong_

_with every plan of my life_

_I didn't really notice that you've been here_

"Heaven's A Lie" Lacuna Coil

* * *

The ridge formed a massive backdrop to the decrepit old house that Daniel had run to. Two collapsing stories, with peeling paint and a snow-covered lawn that more than likely usually housed foot-high weeds, it seemed to have been abandoned for at least a decade. The curtains he could see behind the windows made him think someone left the place in a hurry, probably still furnished with clothes in the closets.

The front-door hung slightly on rusted hinges and Sam crept through the small opening it afforded, careful to not make any more noise than absolutely necessary. The windows had been covered by years of grime and neglect, and afforded no light in the building. He kept his back to the wall, skulking in the shadows, searching for Daniel. It was impossible to locate him psychically when they were so close together, and so Sam had to rely on just his eyes and his ears to help him.

"I didn't ask for this Sam," Daniel's voice echoed from somewhere within the groaning farmhouse's depths. He clearly knew Sam had entered. "None of us asked for this. But it is what it is. And I'm just doing what I can with the cards I've been dealt."

"You call killing people 'doing your best'?" Sam shot back, immediately sliding to the other side of the room after speaking, knowing Daniel might be goading him into speaking so he could ascertain his location.

"We all have our own ways of dealing with things, Sam. So I take a more… destructive… path than others. I'm not the only one."

Sam could see Daniel now, standing in the kitchen of the house, a cooking knife spinning idly on the counter in front of him, catching the small sliver of light the broken window afforded, just like Max Miller had done all that time ago. Sam stayed in the shadows, unwilling to let Daniel see him, to give Daniel that advantage.

"The others… a lot of the others… they're searching for the other gate. You know the one I'm talking about, the other gate into Hell. They want to let more demons out, they want to start the war."

Sam practically held his breath as he strained to listen to Daniel's words. It was true that one of the 'children' had opened a Devil's Gate not too long ago, at the Demon's behest. It had been something out of one of Sam's worst nightmares.

_The ancient doors creaked as they suddenly opened, and from within __them__ came an explosion of darkness, demons in one mass freed all at once. Terror overwhelmed him as the shadowy, shapeless forms of the demons were released, tearing out of Hell and blending with the __dark night sky. They disappeared one by one, no doubt searching for hosts, for innocent people to possess and use. _

So many demons escaped that night, disappearing into the cloudless sky, impossible to count or track. That was before the hunters arrived. It had been the first real group assault launched against the children, and Sam was ashamed to have been there, to recognize some of the men fighting to protect the good and the innocent of the world. He was doubly ashamed to have been recognized by them in turn. _"Isn't that Johnny's boy?"_ So much for the good Winchester name…

There was no clear winner to that battle, but the demon had recalled the psychics, and with their absence the hunters managed to close the gate. They covered the area with reinforced protections and were rumored to be guarding it as well, to prevent them from accessing it again.

The Demon had alluded to the existence of another Devil's Gate, one that when opened would release the rest of the demon army. However he did not reveal the location before they destroyed him. He never imagined that some of the other psychics might still be playing the demon's game, still trying to start the war. They all knew each other, and some were not the nicest people in the world but after everything the demon did to them…

"But after what happened with you guys… let's just say I don't trust me brothers and sisters all that much. Especially not _them_. No, it's better to not trust others, it's better to do things alone. If the war does start, then yeah I'll help our side, but I'm not going to join up before then."

Daniel paused, turning towards the doorway where Sam hid out of sight, searching it for some sign of his pursuer. "Don't you have anything to say to this, Sam?" Daniel asked. "Don't you want to ask me their names, don't you want to talk about all of it? You always wanted to talk, that got you into a lot of trouble, didn't it?"

Daniel took a step towards the doorway.

"I know you're there, Sammo, you're lurking aren't you? Quite the time to become skittish, why don't you come out and face me?"

Sam gripped the knife tightly in his hands, purposely breathing quietly as Daniel approached. His footsteps drew closer, apparently impatient of waiting for Sam and deciding to find his 'brother' himself. Sam held his breath, watching the scant shadows in the gloom as Daniel neared, listening intently to his lopsided footsteps. He was a few feet away when Sam spun, arm arching forward, and drove the knife into his shoulder. Sam had meant to hit him in the heart, had meant to inflict a fatal wound, but something stopped him at the last second, drove his hand astray and destroyed his aim. It was that part of his mind that for the last couple of years began to speak to him in Jess' voice.

Daniel didn't scream, he barely even flinched as the knife embedded itself in the meat of his shoulder. It had been part of their training, to put pain in the back of their mind, to lock it away and not focus on it so they could push their bodies to accomplish more than they should. They fooled their bodies to not shut down to save themselves. They all learned to push themselves beyond the natural limit of endurance. To 'Father' as long as they lived long enough to complete their task it didn't matter if they died from their injuries later.

Daniel met Sam's eyes, brown to blue and in that moment Sam knew he was so screwed. Daniel barely gestured with his left hand and every knife in that old abandoned kitchen was suddenly headed straight for Sam. He hit the floor, a blade slicing the side of his arm as he fell, and watched as Daniel made them come towards him once more. He leapt to his feet and faced his opponent, one hand outstretched. Sam focused his psychic powers on the knives and watched as one by one they fell from the sky, clattering at his feet as he used telekinesis to push them away. His other hand drew his gun, and he fired upon his opponent. Daniel lazily flicked his fingers and the bullets fell before they could hit him.

Sam tossed the gun down and charged Daniel, knocking him onto the floor, flat on his back, Sam on top of him. Daniel kicked and punched, his body writhing underneath Sam's as Sam tried to hold his attention, tried to keep Daniel's eyes on him and not on something he could use to skewer Sam with. Something exploded over Sam's head and in his moment of distraction Daniel flipped him off, freeing himself and tearing out of the kitchen.

Sam chased after him, all of his mind, all of his abilities, singularly focused on Daniel. Other people and their thoughts became just a distant buzzing in the back of Sam's mind. It was this focus that often got him into trouble when he was training his ability. The demon told him he needed to keep track of everyone and everything at once, he needed to be constantly aware of any change around him, to mind his surroundings and anyone who might approach him. He never really got the hang of that though, and he only hoped that no one would be smashing in to help Daniel.

There was a creaking in the ceiling as Sam ran and he felt his heart race increase as he realized that the creaking was because of Daniel. The other psychic was trying to bring it crashing down on top of Sam. He applied more speed. Daniel might be stupid, but he would never be accused of being suicidal, so the closer Sam got to him, the safer he would be.

Chunks of plaster crashed just behind Sam, cracking beams and wires now exposed and the debris began raining down, coating Sam in dust as he headed for the door. Sam caught sight of Daniel standing in the snow beyond the door just as the rest of the ceiling crashed. Sam stared up in shock as the beams collapsed and his last thought before it all came toppling down was that he should have killed Daniel when he had the chance.

* * *

Dean had been on his way down the ridge, picking his path carefully to avoid patches of ice and unstable ground. He figured he would be no help to Sam if he tripped and split his head open on the descent. 

But that had been before the old house groaned and he watched the ceiling begin to topple in on itself, topple in on _Sam._ He ran then, cold air burning his face, and legs pumping harder and harder.

Because Ava said he was going to be stabbed right? Ava said… whoever Ava was, whether she was trustworthy or not. And God, she had seemed so desperate to get Sam on the phone, maybe she made up the stabbed part, just for shock value, just to get Sam to call her back. Dean did not know how he could survive if that was true, if he had put all of his faith in some mystery woman's cryptic voice mail and it had been false.

He ran faster.

* * *

Daniel watched Sam coldly, standing just beyond the rubble where Sam lay trapped, his legs pinned by debris. 

"You need to learn how to mind your own business, Sam," Daniel said, spinning a knife around in his hands.

"Why?" he croaked. "Why are you doing this?"

"It makes the darkness go away," Daniel whispered. "You know what it's like, right? Their voices won't leave me alone, I see yellow eyes in my head, and I hear them telling me things, terrible things. And the demons keep finding me and following me and taunting me. Killing is the only thing that makes it all go away. In that instant there's nothing except silence, wonderful silence."

Sam didn't know what to say to that, just stared at Daniel, watched as his eyes clouded over and he lost himself to his own thoughts. As Daniel drifted, Sam focused on freeing himself. He concentrated on the rubble and felt it lift off of him and topple over the side, releasing his legs and catching Daniel's attention.

His jeans had ripped, and Daniel's eyes zeroed in on the knife sheathed on his right calf. Sam made a move towards it but was too slow, the knife slicing his leg as it ripped through the holster and flew into Daniel's waiting hand.

"You have anymore weapons on you Sam?" Daniel asked conversationally. "I'm surprised you brought any, you should know better than anyone that having weapons in front of a telekinetic is really just like giving them to him."

"So what're you going to do, kill me?" Sam questioned, breathing heavily from being half-crushed, his legs aching and bruised.

"You know Sam, I learned something new. Check this out," Daniel smiled gleefully. He pinched his fingers together and Sam felt sudden pressure on one of his ribs. He put a hand to his chest, straining to somehow pull away the force that seemed intent on breaking his bone. Daniel's grip lifted, and Sam suddenly felt a sharp pain in the middle finger of his left hand, a second later there was a loud crack and Sam's finger bent at an impossible angle. Sam cried out, his eyes staring unbelieving at Daniel. "Fun, right?" Daniel laughed. "Want me to do the other four?" he asked casually as Sam worked on putting the pain aside, focusing solely on the task at hand.

"You know I'd prefer it if you didn't, but we all gotta do what we gotta do, right?" Sam asked, a strange glint in his eyes. Daniel recognized the look perfectly well, it was the look Sam got when he was done messing around, when he had decided he was going to kill someone and wanted to get it done and over with. In anticipation of the last assault, Daniel centered himself and floated the two knives he still had. He knew Sam had one more hidden away beneath his left sleeve, had felt it when Sam charged him earlier, and knew exactly how he planned to use it.

Daniel 'threw' the two knives at Sam, watching as the taller psychic followed them with his eyes, ready to knock them out of the way.

Sam's body hummed in a way he had grown quite accustomed to, it was a rare feeling for Sam, the feeling of releasing his inhibitions, releasing the tight control he had over his abilities and his temper. His conscience faded from hearing, Jess' voice indignant as it zoned into the back of Sam's mind. All that mattered was the hunt, the kill, the utter destruction of the threat before him. Survival was the number one most important thing in Sam's world in that moment.

Daniel released the knives and Sam quickly went to counter them. However, Sam missed Daniel's smirk as he focused on the last of the knives, forcing them away. He vaguely felt a stinging on his left arm but didn't even think about it.

Sam's ears perked as he heard the sound of something slicing through the air behind him a second too late. His mind froze, no time to react, waiting for the blow, when suddenly something hit him from the side. A body landed on top of him, forcing him to the snow-covered ground, and they rolled in a tangle of limbs. "Who the hell…" Daniel's voice shouted indignantly before cutting off. Sam's head hit the half-destroyed wall of the house just as he looked up to see the knife, now soaring through open air, connect violently with the only thing standing in its way.

Daniel looked surprised as he fell to the ground, mouth still open, a pool of blood forming beneath him.

Sam's eyes latched on to Daniel's watching the light leaving them as the smaller man took his last shaking breath and then released it with a long sigh that seemed overly loud in the now quiet area.

"You okay?" a voice said close to Sam's ear. He turned to find Dean extricating himself from his and Sam's tangle of limbs. Sam helped in the effort, standing and reaching for Dean's hand to pull him up. "You okay?" Dean asked again when Sam did not respond. He was breathing heavily, and though he heard Dean he just could not bring himself to answer. Could anything that just happened be defined as 'okay'?

"Your arm is bleeding," Dean said, moving to inspect the wound, not paying any attention to the body on the ground by his feet.

"Let's just get out of here," Sam suggested.

* * *

They did not speak as Dean bandaged up his arm and felt his ribs for breaks. Few words were exchanged when Dean's caught the odd angle of Sam's finger. 

"Shit Sam, why didn't you say anything?"

"Didn't really feel it anymore…"

They said nothing when the doctor at the clinic put a brace on the finger. The car ride back to the motel was also held in silence. Upon their return, Sam collapsed on the bed, staring out the frost-covered window. Eventually Sam's breathing evened out and Dean saw that he had fallen asleep, his injured arm curled close to his body.

Dean sat in the chair by the window, watching the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest, hearing the sound of his breathing loudly in the otherwise silent room. In his mind he ran through all that he had overheard between Sam and Daniel, and all that he had seen. Sam would have killed Daniel if he had the chance, Dean saw it, the strange look in his eyes, the change in his posture. It was something foreign to Dean, another piece of this 'new Sam' that Dean did not recognize. And one more bullet on the growing list of 'things Sam and Dean need to talk about right now.' Unfortunately, the 'right now' part would have to wait until Dean felt he could have this conversation without an angry tone in his voice, until he could have this conversation calmly and understandingly. Sam came back to him, that had to mean something. He couldn't judge Sam, make him feel unwanted, not when all Dean dreamed about for the past year was having him back.

He was just afraid that if he talked to Sam about this he would reveal just how much he was missing the person his little brother used to be.

* * *

**A/N: I would love to know what you thought!**

**-Ada**


	7. Betrayal

**All That's Left**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 7: Betrayal

* * *

Dean replayed the scene at the ridge over and over in his mind. He saw Sam and that freak Daniel fighting, heard their words. He ran in panic when he saw the house collapsing. He remembered how his breath had burned in his lungs as he turned the corner just in time to see a floating knife heading straight for Sam's back, Daniel right in front of Sam, smirking as it neared its target. Tackling Sam to the ground had been a natural reaction, he had hoped to be in time, to spare Sam (and himself) from any major injury. And he had timed it perfectly.

He collided with Sam and pushed him to the ground just in time for the knife to sail above their bodies, just quickly enough that Daniel did not have time to stop its movement. If he had been slightly to the side, Daniel would have lived to attack them again, but unfortunately for him he was just in front of Sam, directly in front of Sam, and so when there was no Sam for the knife to slay, it instead sliced cleanly into Daniel. He had been slain by his own weapon, killed with his own attempt at murder.

Dean was relieved it had gone down that way, because he would have killed the little bastard himself for trying to touch his brother, but he knew he was out of his element with a telekinetic. And he definitely did not want Sam to be the one to kill him, to watch Sam dispassionately take a human life, not with how messed up his brother was now, not with the look he had seen in Sam's eyes as he faced off against Daniel.

Killing wasn't exactly a wrong in Dean's eyes, not if it was necessary, but it had always been wrong to Sam. He would tell Dean that he couldn't understand how he could so easily make the decision, how he could 'play God' and decide someone did not deserve to live. Sam believed in second chances and talking it out. Nothing was ever black and white to him, a person wasn't simply evil because they did an evil thing, there was gray everywhere in Sam's world, and because of that, committing a murder would haunt his mind forever, haunt him with what-could-have-been and a million other things he might have done differently to avoid it.

Of course all of that referred to old Sam, the kid who disappeared from the hospital after refusing to kill their father in order to destroy the demon responsible for ruining their lives again and again. And somehow, that one choice, the shot that went into his father's leg rather than his chest, that one decision ruined Sam more than anything else. He went after the demon alone, walked headlong into the thing's 'plans.'

And now that Sam was gone.

And Dean could not help but blame himself. Sam, who never listened to anyone, who always did what he wanted, who Dean called selfish again and again, who Dean was so convinced would sacrifice anything in order to stop the demon had missed his opportunity to kill it because Dean asked him not to.

For not the first time Dean wondered what would have happened if Sam pulled the trigger, if Sam wiped their father out and destroyed the demon. There would be no puppet-master demon out to get Sam, maybe Sam would have gone back to college, had a life. Maybe Dean would not have been jealous of that, maybe Dean would have gladly let him go. Or maybe Dean would have been angry with him for going, would have tried to blackmail him into staying. Dean wasn't proud of pondering those possibilities, he knew that he, just like everyone else he knew, was inherently selfish. He had dragged his brother back into the life he hated, wanted him to stay with him and hunt forever even though he knew it would slowly destroy Sam. To Dean, family meant begrudging Sam of any choice, of having anything he wanted.

He liked to think that when Sam walked away, when John decided he was no longer worth searching for, that Dean surpassed the selfishness, that Dean chose Sam like Sam had chosen him. He cut off all ties with his father and stubbornly searched on for any trace of Sam. He thought that once he found Sam everything would be better, everything would be different. And though he wouldn't trade having Sam back for anything in the world, he ached as he watched this stranger in his brother's skin walking around, the way each step seemed to pain him, each sound echoing some hidden horror in his mind. He wanted to know what had happened to Sam but at the same time he didn't ever want to know. He was pretty sure from the scraps he had picked up that once he had heard the whole story he would give anything just to have it erased from his mind, to not know what had been done to his sweet little brother, what they did to change him, to turn him into someone unrecognizable; to not know what Sam was forced to do to stay alive.

He looked past Sam, who was sleeping curled in a ball beneath the covers, and to the calendar at the wall. With everything happening lately he hadn't taken stock of the date, and here it was, New Year's Eve, the time for resolutions and clean slates, and Dean couldn't remember a time when things had been more screwed up then they were right now.

Sam turned in his sleep and mumbled softly, "We have to open the gate… he'll kill us if we don't, and it's only a few hundred demons on the loose..."

Dean froze, staring at Sam for a moment until he went quiet again. The situation with Daniel made Dean uneasy (because he certainly wasn't scared, right?). If there were other psychic kids running around out there with hidden homicidal tendencies, then how long before they tracked Sam down, how long before they banded together, how long before he would have to watch his brother kill or be killed? He wanted nothing more at that moment than to spirit Sam away from any threats, to take him to Hawaii or Aruba or even freaking Siberia, just someplace that no one could hurt him, someplace where no one could bring out that expression on Sam's face, that hatred, that resignation to murder. He wanted to rip the psychic powers out of Sam's head so that no one could find him and he couldn't find them.

* * *

Sam was quiet through breakfast and the hours following, clearly mulling something over. Dean wished he would just talk about whatever was on his mind. His own thoughts chased each other around in circles as he tried to figure out a tactful way to tell Sam that he had overheard him and Daniel at the ridge. He needed a way to broach the subject of just what the demon did to Sam, what it had wanted, what had happened to it. But every time he opened his mouth he found no words would come out, he just couldn't find a way to say it, to ask. Because he knew Sam did not want to tell him, and part of him figured he probably didn't want to know anyway. Somehow Dean knew that the truth would be worse than whatever answers he imagined.

Sam sat on the bed, knees drawn up, idly tracing patterns on his jeans with his right hand, while the fingers of the left tapped out a disjointed rhythm on the bedside table. He seemed jittery, filled with nervous energy, and it worried Dean. But when Dean decided to go out and pick up some lunch, he asked Sam point-blank if he would be there when Dean returned, and his brother nodded in response, not bothering to lift his head and make eye contact with brother. He did relax slightly as Dean pulled the door open, almost as if he were grateful for the solitude Dean's exit would bring. Dean was not sure how he felt about that.

* * *

When Dean returned, lunch bag in his hands, what he did not expect upon his return was to find Sam hunched over in the corner, crouched beside the bed as if he had just slid off.

"Sam?" Dean asked, dropping the bag with their sandwiches and making his way to his brother's side in three quick strides. Sam was making a keening sound, his body rocking back and forth. His brother's head was buried in his hands, but Dean could clearly see blood dripping from his fingers. "Sam!" he said louder this time. When Sam did not respond, Dean forcibly moved his hands and Sam finally seemed to notice him, lifting his head. Rivulets of blood slid from his nose and his ears, and there was a small trail from his mouth where he had bitten into his lip.

"Sammy?" Dean asked as Sam lifted sluggish eyes to stare at him. His pupils were blown and he seemed to be fading in and out, not really aware of what was going on around him.

Finally Sam lifted his right hand shakily and gripped Dean's shoulder, using the contact to anchor him to reality and to the present. "They're really gonna do it," he said and his voice was slurred, difficult to understand.

"Who? Do what?"

"They found it… the Devil's Gate… they're gonna… release the army…" Sam said. He turned from Dean, struggling to his feet. "I gotta stop them."

"You're not going anywhere right now," Dean said, pushing his dazed little brother down on the bed. Once he was sure Sam was not going to get up, Dean walked into the bathroom and wet a washcloth. When he returned Sam was staring at his hands, and did not appear to notice Dean when he sat beside him and began cleaning the blood from his face.

"Now tell me what's going on," Dean said, one arm around Sam's shoulders (to keep him from falling of course…). He could feel Sam trembling, and the blood pooling on his lip finally slipped down his chin. Sam shook his head, but for what Dean could not tell, and anyway Sam winced as he did it as if exacerbating a headache.

Sam licked his lip, trying to do away with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He had tasted blood plenty of times, but now it made it hard for him to think, hard for him to put his thoughts in order, because it reminded him of… _Brown eyes stared up at him, empty and blank. _He tried to erase the image, tried not to think about that, not when something much more important was on his mind. He couldn't change what happened back then, but he could stop the others, stop them from releasing the demons.

"There's a… another Devil's Gate," Sam said slowly, trying to organize his thoughts so Dean could understand.

"You mean a door to Hell?" Dean clarified, slightly horrified, especially at the fact that Sam had said 'another.'

"Y…yeah… umm… they found it… he… he wanted us to open them… release the demons… but uh… the first one… shut…" _'__Ain't__ that Johnny's kid?' Eyes full of accusation meeting his across the dark cemetery. _Sam wanted to explain but everything was jumbling and his head was pounding and on second thought maybe he really shouldn't be telling Dean any of this. He lowered his head into his hands, hoping to make it stop hurting so much.

"Sam, hey," Dean said gently. "You look like crap man, why don't you just get some sleep, we can talk about this later."

Dean sat down in the chair beside Sam's bed, watching as his brother dropped off into a peaceful sleep. Dean rubbed his hands over his face. Despite having cared for Sammy for most of his life he felt completely lost. And now the Devil's Gate… He had said it once back with the demon that kept making those planes crash; demons made him nervous, he didn't feel like he had enough experience with them to take them on confidently. And now Sam was talking about opening a gateway to Hell that could release hundreds, or thousands of them? He was out of his element here, he needed help.

As much as he had wanted to keep Sam all to himself, to separate the two of them from John – John who had given up on Sam, left him to whatever the plans the demon had for him, abandoned his own son – Dean knew that his father would have some idea of what to do next. So as much as it pained him to admit it, he needed to call his father.

* * *

"I'm sorry." The words were whispered and jolted Dean out of the light doze he had fallen into, his journal stretched across his lap, his father's last known number scrawled haphazardly on the open page. Dean turned to his brother, now awake and sitting up, head in his hands.

"What are you sorry for?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"I thought it was over… I never would've come back if it wasn't over. I was wrong, I'm sorry. I didn't want you to be a part of any of this." He sounded defeated, tired. And Dean could only imagine how it must have felt for Sam to go through whatever he had been through and then, having it finally be over, and then realizing there was more to it, that he wasn't finished yet. He wasn't quite sure what to say now, what he could say to Sam to change any of the way he felt, to assure him that whatever he had to face, he didn't have to face it alone. But then Sam spoke again and Dean just listened. "When I left… back in Missouri… I didn't know… I didn't know what it would be like, what I was walking into. And after… when they… I just… I was glad that you didn't have to… that you wouldn't see… wouldn't know… I didn't want you to look at me different… look at me like _he _did…"

"Like who did?"

"Dad," Sam whispered, and that one word made him sound so defeated, so broken.

"You've seen Dad?" Dean asked, on his feet and to his brother's side in an instant. "When? Where?"

"First time was… a year after Missouri," Sam whispered. "Then again seven months ago."

Dean felt as if his blood was suddenly turning to ice, his whole body frozen as he repeated Sam's words over and over again his mind. One year after Sam disappeared, John had made that phone call to Dean, the one where he told him that Sam was most likely dead, that he had to give up on Sam.

Sam turned to look up at him, and Dean wondered if he was reading the thoughts right out of his head, listening in on Dean's memories of John's betrayal. His hands clenched into fists and he wanted nothing more than to pound John's face in. Because he knew, he _knew_ over a year ago that the demon had Sam, that Sam was in trouble, that Sam needed him. He knew and he lied to Dean about it, lied and tried to make him believe his brother had been killed, tried to make him give up the search.

And he had been thinking about calling that bastard up and asking for his help? Not now, not ever. He was done with John Winchester, forever.

It was bad enough when Dean had thought that John had just given up on looking for Sam, but for him to call off the search when Sam had been victimized, had been used, when Sam needed their help – that was unforgivable.

"What happened Sam, tell me what happened when you saw him," Dean ordered, voice icy, anger directed at John leeching out of him.

Sam just shook his head, burying it in his hands again. "Sam, tell me!" Dean shouted. Sam flinched and Dean immediately regretted his tone. How could he have yelled at Sam? This wasn't Sam's fault.

"I… I can't…" Sam responded, his voice cracking, and Dean thought he might be crying.

"Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean whispered, putting his arms around Sam and pulling him close. "I'm sorry." He ran his hand over Sam's too-short hair and pressed his head against Sam's, tears prickling in his own eyes.

"I don't blame him," Sam whispered. Sam said nothing more and Dean couldn't think of how to respond so he remained silent.

* * *

**A/N: I figured that was a good place to stop. Action starts next time!**

**-Ada**


End file.
